Tuesday, June 17, 2014

These Things I Own

It has been said 
These things you own
Indeed, instead, own you

I am unsure 
And wonder still 
Is this completely true

Most certainly
They may become 
A woven part of you

My deepest fear
This mind's invention

The darkest lust
And good intention

My cruel thought
Or kindest deed

Lash out in anger
Give aid to need

The broken promises
The resolved stand

As I pushed them away
Or held out my hand

Oh, bold design
Life's masterpiece

My failed attempts
Like falling leaves

Intoxicated, brooding form
Dark, cold, empty soul

Poor, beating, noble heart
That burns as hot as coal

Mocking little vanities
Cracked mirrored reflections

Wind blown, seeking bourne
In damned, earthly condition

My dirty little lies
Or bold imposing truths

Each testify my worth
When looked at, show the proof

In deepest, dark sequester
Searching, running, free

These things, I own
And, still I ask
Do they, infact, own me?

What do I own?  My life.  All of it.  This place in time or at least, my part in it.  I am not victim to any man or circumstance.  I am not tennant nor prisoner.  This is my life, my doing, my choices.  These are my things, all of them.  I am bound, only in this frame and to my decisions.  What do you own?

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